Beyond Measure
by AnabelleG
Summary: An unguarded moment leads to unintended consequences.


**A/N: This idea has been around for the better part of a year, always just a little out of reach. Even now, looking at what came out on the page, I'm shaking my head, wondering if I left it alone for a little too long. Or not long enough. In any event, as always, I hope you find it interesting and welcome your feedback. -Ana**

She knew that it would end almost from the moment it began. Even later, when she reasoned that it was not certain, she kept the possibility close, tucked away for the moments when she needed to parse and analyze, to gauge the strength of her doubt. Would this be the misstep that led them away from each other? Was that the event that would finally separate them? She lived by a code of vigilance, preparing herself for the inevitable. It would be messy and noisy, a sharp thunderclap in her existence as part of _them_, an incisive divide between before and after. And always, always, she knew that no matter how carefully she shored her defenses, it would hurt in ways that she could not imagine.

But the end, when it came, was quiet and yielding; it would be left to meander over the course of days or weeks until one of them acknowledged it. As she stared at the sleeping figure next to her, she realized that there was only one thing she had gotten right. The pain was beyond measure.

xxxxx

Laughter led the way as they nearly burst into his apartment, tumbling into each other as momentum swung the door wide. It had started with a bit of almost adolescent silliness that, once fueled by a couple glasses of good wine and a lingering rush of adrenaline, became impossible to control. With the unusual absence of drama or conflict to weigh them down, they both allowed it to continue longer than need be, content to float along in the easy, giddy mirth.

Even when composure returned, the signs were still there, sustained in the shine of their eyes, the flush in her cheeks. There was no plan, no obligations to tend, so they settled into comfortable conversation. The banter never approached bickering, the brief pauses were not somber or serious in any way, and there, in the background, was the secret satisfaction with the touchstones in their shared history, that there were references and memories that belonged to them.

Eventually though, despite the fact that no one welcomed it, reality intruded with reminders of the late hour, the impending workday. Still they lingered over the end of the evening, reluctant to say the last words as they stood at door. He shifted, turning away at the same moment she impulsively leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

The accidental kiss was chaste, lasting only long enough for the contact to register before they moved apart, staring at each other with wariness and shock. It was an instinctive reaction. The two of them had spent so long nurturing the boundaries between them, balancing the ebb and flow of attraction with such precision, that control was second nature. In that respect, there was no reason for that night to be different from any other. But it was.

It was as if every want, every need, that they had suppressed or denied over the last four years was released into the too narrow space between them. The effect was instant, restraint and caution forgotten bywords as they reached for each other. There were no words or gestures, no long stares full of subtext and possibility. This wasn't about seduction or tenderness. It was frantic, primal desperation for physical connection, intimacy. Ownership. Hands. Lips. Fingers, tongues. Teeth. Grazing, sliding, touching, grasping against curves and muscle, seeking the bare places to brand, the greedy siren's chant roaring over them. Mine, mine, _mine_.

Clothing shifted, then disappeared, the rattle of a buckle and the rasp of zippers stoking the urgency as they crossed the room in a tangled shuffle toward the bed. It was there, the sheets cold against the heat of her skin, that the first dim warning sounded. To be there, naked, with Booth, with his mouth against her breast, his erection pressing into the curve of her hip. It was wrong, a mistake. But then he shifted, his breath whispering against her skin as his mouth slid lower, and the notion of boundaries faded.

"Now," one of them demanded, then begged. "Oh god, now…"

Not caring whom the words belonged to, she responded to the plea, accepting him as he settled between her legs, cradling his hips against her thighs as he entered her. For a fraction of a second, she held onto the satisfaction of possession, the complete purity of the pleasure, before it fell away. She stiffened reflexively, gasping as harsh understanding descended. He, Booth, her….he was inside of her. They had—what had they done?

He felt it too; she saw her shock reflected in his eyes as he held himself still against her, his arms trembling with the effort to maintain control as they remained frozen in that truth, unable to take it back, unable to move forward.

"We can't…" he paused as a low moan escaped. "Oh, god, I'm sorry…"

She felt him shudder and then his hips flexed, as he withdrew and thrust into her. Her body responded, her breath quickening as sensation scattered over her nerves, but the pleasure quickly grew distant as he looked away from her, his head bowed. She saw the weight he was already carrying, the regret that she couldn't leave to him alone. Her decision made, she placed a hand against his cheek, turning him his face to her.

"It's okay," she whispered, brushing her lips against his. Before doubt returned, she pressed her heels into the mattress, arching against him, guiding him back to her. He hesitated, sighing as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. Then, as she stared over the line of his shoulder, he slowly began to move.

The frenetic fury was gone though, flame already fading into ash. Even as she continued to whisper encouragement, she failed to match her rhythm to his, the imperative lost in the focus on the heated pants of breath at her ear, the near mournful growls low in his throat. Tears burned in the back of her throat as the sparks of tension dimmed into the friction. There was nothing familiar in this, nothing safe, in even the simplest things. Where to place her hands, how to touch him, to center herself around him. Everything felt wrong.

She realized that couldn't do this anymore, could not pretend that this was nothing but biological release or that she could remain distant by telling herself that it didn't matter. There was no way to divorce herself from the knowledge that this was Booth, no rationalization that would fix this, make it right.

She pushed at his shoulder, guiding him onto his back. Ignoring the question in his eyes, she rose and lowered herself over him, faster, then faster, intent on driving him to release. His hands gripped her waist, her hips, fingers tightening almost painfully as he tried to slow her down.

"Stop…slow down, Tem—please just…_fuck_."

She stopped, holding herself against him as he came, watching as his neck arched, his mouth tightened in near grimace. Before he returned, before he could see her and understand, she closed her eyes. It was over.

He lifted her way from him. Eyes still closed, she sensed him shifting away from her. It was only a few inches, still close enough to touch, but she felt the distance. Then, just as the silence began to grow heavy, he cleared his throat.

"You didn't…" he said, the question trailing into statement.

She stared at the ceiling as she considered the lie forming on her tongue. Then she told him the truth.

"No." She paused. "You're upset."

She heard a sigh, imagined his jaw clenching as he bit back whatever he wanted to say. Wary, not understanding his concern with this of all that had occurred, she chose the safer ground.

"It's not a sign of failure. There are studies…" she ventured.

"Don't, okay? Don't start quoting science at me. It wasn't that."

He rose, turning to look at her, before he fell back, his fist driving into the mattress.

"You weren't even there," he said, anger bleeding through the soft words. Startled by the sudden vehemence, she flung the accusation back at him.

"Neither were you."

Temper flaring through haze, she sat up drawing a sheet around her. It was obvious where this was headed, and she had reached her capacity, there was no room left for another emotional blow. She stood up, then froze, her mind flooding with next steps. Clothes, keys. Home. She wanted to be home.

"Bon—Temperance?"

There was genuine concern in his words, a concession, but she also heard the slip, the stumble over what to call her. What had happened—it was already changing them.

"Tomorrow. Can we talk about this then?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"I need to…" She gestured aimlessly, taking a step toward the front room to retrieve her clothes.

"Don't go," he said suddenly. "We—we don't have to talk. Not tonight. But we shouldn't....don't let it end like this."

She stared at him in disbelief. Why? Why did he was this disaster to continue?

"Will you stay?"

_No_.

"Yes."

xxxxx

Curled near the edge of the bed, she stared at the broad lines of the back turned to her, her fingers tingling with the need to reach for him. Because he was the person she went to when she was scared. When she drew her hand away, she knew that too was gone. Whatever tomorrow brought—bitterness, denial, or even hope—it didn't matter. The laws of physics had held firm, the miracle hadn't happened and they would never be who they were before.


End file.
